


how in enders name does the genetics of this family work

by cryptibs



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Baby Floris | Fundy, Comfort, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Oneshot, wrote this at like 3 am instead of sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28832085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptibs/pseuds/cryptibs
Summary: this was jus from a lil prompt given to me by a friend :] i took like a month to write it lmfaowarnings: fundy being a BASTARD, thats about it i thinkpast events from before dream smp! idk where this is supposed to be tbh(hey psst,, i have a twt,,, its @/camjammed ,, i post dumb tweets and can answer dms with story ideas or questions there :] )
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Phil Watson, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 83





	how in enders name does the genetics of this family work

The loud sizzle of eggs on the frying pan filled the kitchen in the early hours. Dim sunlight reflected off the raindrops outside, casting pretty rainbows through the window. 

A gentle patter of rain hit against the roof again, the lone man by the stove sighed, disappointed by yet another day ruined by the rain.

The smell of cooked food became more clear, the man flipped the eggs one last time, then slid them onto a plate, putting the pan into the already full sink. He had to remember to clean those dishes later. 

Pulling open a cabinet to grab a glass, a knock echoed through the nearly silent house, nearly startling the man into dropping the cup.

He glanced back at the door, confused at who it might be. Nearly all of his sons were off on their own adventures, no plans to return any time as soon as now. 

Abandoning the glass on the counter, he turned and strode towards the oak door, reaching for the knob hesitantly. 

Pulling open the door, the man was greeted with the sight of his second eldest child, soaked to the bone by rain, clutching a small bundle to his chest. 

“Wil?”

“Hey- hey dad.”

Rain thundered down behind the taller man, much heavier and louder than what it had been a minute prior. 

“What the hell? What are you even doing here? You’re not set-”

“Yeah. I’m aware I wasn’t set to return until four months. I know.”

“Then why-”

“Look- can you just-”

Phil had the bundle passed into his arms gently, a small squeak came from it, making him look down in shock.

A small furry face stared back at him, fluffy ears flicking back and forth as brown eyes peeked at him from under the blanket’s layers. 

“Wil,”

The brunette was hunched around the table seeming to search for something.

“Wilbur.”

His head whipped up, water dripping from his long bangs. 

“Any idea where the milk is? I thought you kept a bucket under the table-”

“Why the hell do you need milk? For god's sake Wil, you’ve handed me a child!”

“Yes? Just hold him for a second, I need to find the milk.”

“Christ- the milks in the pantry, by the apples.”

Ducking under the too low door frame, he disappeared again, seemingly going to fetch a pail of milk, for whatever reason.

A tiny yip escaped the now moving blankets in Phil’s arms, making him adjust his hold on the blankets to keep the small child nestled within. A nose poked towards him, curious and wondering at the new person. 

Footsteps made him look up again, the thunk of a heavy bucket onto his poor counters made Phil flinch, dreading the scuff marks that would most certainly be there now.

He walked over, wondering what his still sodden son was doing now. 

“Do you still have those silly little bottles? The ones with little pink trims around the caps?”

Thinking back, the shorter man bent down carefully, cautious of the now still child in his arms.

Rifling through the cabinets took a minute, eventually pulling out a dusty box filled with the previously mentioned bottles, along with other supplies that he ignored.

Standing up, he passed one of the bottles to the taller man, watching as he rinsed it, then filled it with the milk he had asked for. 

He then set it down, and reached for the bundle in Phil’s arms, expectant in his silent request to be granted.

“Most certainly not. You’re soaked through, go change, I’ll take care of the kid.”

Huffing out an agreement, his son turned, hurrying up the stairs, boots tracking puddles all over the wooden floorboards. He’d have to clean that up later.

Turning his attention back to the small creature in his arms, Phil pulled back a corner of the blanket, revealing a small snout and orange face once again.

“Alright mate, ya’ want some milk?” A high pitched squeak was his only answer, he chuckled, taking it as a yes. 

\---

A few minutes later, after his son was finally dry and not dripping water all over his floors, Phil was sat at the table, facing Wilbur.

“So, wanna explain why you’ve showed up, four months early, with a random child?”

“I mean technically he's my child- my son.”

A deep breath in, then out. Don’t yell while there's a small kid around. 

“Your child?”

“Yeah, it's... a long story.”

“Jesus Wil- I- how is he even yours? He’s literally a fox!”

“That's from his mom, she is- she was a shapeshifter.” 

“Was?”

“I kinda.. lost her.”

An awkward silence hung heavy in the room, rain still pounded down outside, tinging off of the roof.

“Well, you clearly-” Phil was cut off by a short stab of pain in his left thumb, whipping his head down, he was greeted with the sight of tiny sharp fangs biting down against his poor finger. 

Gently attempting to gain his thumb back was to no avail, the kit seeming to bite even harder down on it. 

“Wil. Your child seems to have my thumb hostage.”

A short bark of laughter echoed through the kitchen,   
“Good luck getting it back! Fundy seems to enjoy chewing on fingers, trust me. I have marks.”

Momentarily, the kit was distracted by his fathers laugh, releasing Phil’s thumb enough for him to get it back. 

“Jesus- ow- your kid is a real arse, Wil.”

Sadness flickered across the man's face, Phil instantly felt guilty, quickly changing the subject.

“So you said his name is Fundy?”

“Yeah! I read somewhere that it means ‘spirit of a fox’, so I thought it’d be kinda fitting.”

Another attempt to steal a finger was made by the kit, almost as if he knew they were talking about him. 

Laughter filled the small house once again, punctuated by small yips and barks of the fox shifter, and far away, a red salmon swam through a clear river, her worries mostly gone for the time being.


End file.
